[b]Now playing as narrator[/b] [b]Oaln 7, 5099[/b] Zooming over vast green pastures, the world transitions—soft meadows giving way to a bleached expanse of white plains. Leafless trees loom with mist-covered branches, and craggy, snow-blanketed mountains claw through the dense white fog. The air, once warm under the early morning sun, turns cold and stagnant as the land stretches into unfamiliar territory. Desolate streets lie overgrown with wild, ash-gray grass, each strand heavy with clumps of snow. Farmlands stretch as far as the eye can see, buried beneath a thick layer of frost. Whatever crops once grew there are long dead, claimed by the bitter weather. Far from prying eyes stands a towering, dark palace—seemingly abandoned for centuries. Wisps of cold air rattle the rusted hinges of what was once a majestic silver gate, now shrieking with each tremble. Moss clings to every surface, highlighting the decay that has taken root. *page_break And though the air was still, something felt amiss—almost wrong. Suddenly, the palace gates creaked open, as if forced by an unseen hand. Cracks split through the empty streets, jagged as lightning bolts. The ground quivered, and the snow that once clung to the dark palace began to levitate—suspended in the air as if time itself stood still—until a loud splash disrupted the tranquility. Then, in a sudden deluge, the snow melted in torrents, drenching the ice-caked land beneath. Thick, overgrown branches twisted and recoiled, retreating slowly into the eerie forest beyond the palace grounds. From the darkness, multiple blood-red eyes blinked open. While the water poured down in sheets of crystal-clear silk, inaudible whispers slithered through the air—terror-filled and rough, like an army of undead rising from their graves. “The Sovereign of Death has awakened.”
